The Capitol's Revenge
by Writingaddict1
Summary: When Katniss and Peeta are captured by the Capitol, they are placed into another arena, except this time, they are alone. This time they are the only tributes. One of them must die, and with Katniss badly injured, separated from Peeta, and being hunted mercilessly by the Capitol, bent on revenge, the odds are truly not in her favour. Catching Fire Never Happened. Katniss/Peeta
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys, here is the first Chapter to my new Hunger Games story, hope you like it. Enjoy! Oh, and i am so Team PEETA! **

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"Katniss!" Peeta's voice, so full of worry and fear, howls for me, desperation beginning to settle in.

I yell back, just as desperate. " Peeta! Peeta, they found me! What do I do?" I yell into the vast forest, hoping for a reply.

"Katniss! Where are you? Hold on, I'm coming!" He's coming. Peeta's coming to get me. He's going to save me from their clutches. Stumbling forward, I head off in a frantic search for him. I head left, in the direction I last saw him, hoping with all that I have that I find him, that I won't have to face them alone, that he will be by my side. I never realised before, until we were a team in the hunger games, just how much I relied on him, needed him. I know he loves me, that tirade where we faked our love to survive in the first set of games had proved that. I knew he would protect me with all he had. But did I love him? I would protect him, without a doubt, even if it was at the risk of my own life, but was that really love? The truth was, between Peeta and my relationship with Gale back home, I don't know if I was ready for that sort of relationship.

"Katniss, please!" Once again Peeta's voice, laced with panic, fear and sheer desperation, is calling for me.

"Peeta? Where are you?" I yell back, my voice starting to break. I might not admit it out loud, except maybe to Peeta, because he knows what I'm going though, but I am not stupid enough to deny it from myself.

The next time Peeta's voice calls, it seems to be further away. " Just stay where you are, please, Katniss!" Peeta seems to have recognised the fact that we seem further away too, and his voice holds even more panic that it did before, if that were even possible.

I do what Peeta tells me, the feeling of wanting him at my side too strong for me to deny, and stop where I am, praying that my pursuers will go away, disappear, but, of course, they don't. I look up, see the vast green helicopters and planes circling the sky, all looking for one person, all looking for me.

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**Should i continue? Reviews, anyone?**


	2. Realization is painful

**Hi guys, hope you like this...**

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No sooner had I sat down to wait for Peeta, the rain had started to fall, heavy droplets hitting the floor, bouncing off leaves on trees. Under the tree where I have taken refugee, I am mostly sheltered from the rain, but the odd few droplets splatter onto my face. I am grateful for this, though, because It is helping to disguise the salty tears on my face, making me look stronger than I really am, hiding my tears.

I listen for Peeta's voice once more, hoping I will hear him, that he is coming for me, like he said, but the rain has bought with it a blustering wind, loud enough to drown out Peeta's cries for me, and me for him.

"Peeta!" I yell at the top of my lungs. I start to panic when I don't hear a reply from him, the only reply coming from the wind whistling through the trees and the rain pounding on the floor. That's when I start to notice I'm shivering, from cold or fear I'm unsure, but I suddenly find my arms crossed tightly together, trying to keep me warm, but the rain is insistent in freezing me to death.

Getting up from my perch under the tree, knowing I can't stay there, I look up once more, and what I find doesn't really surprise me. The rain seems to have had no effect on the planes and helicopters searching for me, as I can still see them just as clearly as before. But then again, these are capitol helicopters.

"Peeta!" I shout once more, not sure what to expect. I get silence. The silence somehow reminds me of what I am doing here in the first place. We were in the Capitol, me and Peeta, along with some of the other tributes that have won the Hunger Games in the last ten years, most of which were obnoxious, self scented jerks who have no thoughts for anyone else, when we were ambushed. The tall marble walls were smashed and shattered, rubble flying everywhere. Peeta had me shielded from the rubble, on the floor, his body towering over mind protectively. Everyone was forced back by Peacekeepers, dressed in their usual white suits, towards the back wall, which was the only wall still intact. Guns had been shoved at peoples necks, whilst victors demanded why they were being treated in such a manner. Peeta had been roughly shoved away from me, a gun shoved at his neck, stopping him from taking action. I had been frozen in shock, fear and worry at the time, and had done nothing as I was hauled to my feet, arms pinned behind my back, much like Peeta. Then they had started shooting. Me and Peeta were the last to go down, and so therefore, we were the ones to notice that these guns were different. They had produced no visible wound, no blood, and yet each of the victors had collapsed to the floor, not moving. Then they had pointed the guns at me, deciding to leave Peeta till last, making him watch as they shot me down. As they shot down the Mockingjay, the girl on fire. The last thing I remembered was his horrified expression and him shouting my name, before it all went black.

Then I woke up. I woke up alone, still bleary eyed from the gun, which I decided must have been some sort of sedative, when I noticed I was in a forest, a forest with palm trees and eucalyptus trees. There was all sorts of shrubbery adjourning the grassy floor. That's when Peeta had found me, relieved that I was relatively unharmed. We were both wearing a purple jacket with black ends on the sleeves. The trousers were also black, made of a rich material that could only be from the Capitol; no one else could afford it. The under garment was short sleeved and completely black, and would offer no protect from the cold weather. The last part of my attire were the knee length black boots which were of a sturdy build and of a fine quality. Lying next to me, with a full sheath, was a bow and arrows of the highest quality. But why would whoever put us here give me a weapon? Together we had come to the conclusion that the Capitol had attacked us and placed us in some sort of arena. An arena. Another Hunger Games. We had looked around for other tributes, trying to find out exactly what had happened, but we were alone. But if it was just the two of us, how did we win? Then it hit us like a tonne of rocks. One of us would have to kill the other, in the end, if we wanted to go home. I knew Peeta would rather die himself than kill me, so therefore I knew it was down to me what happened next. But I couldn't kill Peeta. I couldn't just put an arrow through his heart and pretend nothing had happened, living at home, hunting with Gale, when I had killed him. I couldn't live without him, no matter how much he tried. We had become to close, although not as close as myself and Prim, and I couldn't kill him jut to save myself. I now knew why I had been given a weapon. To kill Peeta. Peeta had argued his point, however, saying that one of us had to go home and that it should be me, that he would have nothing to live for if I died. Then a thought had occurred to me, something I should have thought of the moment I realised where we were. The Capitol wanted me in here for a reason, for the same reason that there were just two of us in the arena. The Capitol wanted me dead, and would do anything to achieve this goal. It didn't matter if I killed Peeta, the Capitol would just kill me too, efficiently killing two birds with one stone, even though the Capitol had no grudge against Peeta, except for him loving me. I had told this to Peeta, and although he had argued, he knew what I said was true. That's when I knew. I would not leave this arena again, but Peeta might. I would die here.

Except I wouldn't.

I was pulled out of my flashback by the thunder clashing up above. The pelting rain and blustering wind had caused a storm, bright streaks clashing across the sky. It was ironic really. The girl on fire would be defeated by a simple thunderstorm, the Mockingjay to grounded to fly. I wouldn't be surprised if there were gamemakers sat around controlling the weather, making it almost impossible for us to see. I run forwards, bow loaded and ready to fire, not knowing where I am going. I can't help but wonder what's happened to Peeta. Is he safe? Have they captured him? Is he dead? I will my mind away from these thoughts. Peeta is clever enough to look after himself, and as long as I am still alive, he's safe. It's me they're after, not him.

A sudden whooshing sound disrupts me from my less than pleasant thoughts. Looking upwards, I see nothing but grey clouds and feel the rain pelting my face, but the noise remains. I run harder, knowing whatever it is can't be good, when I suddenly find myself flying through the air, hitting the ground hard, temporarily dazed.

As the black spots clear from my vision, I register a blinding painful sensation in my lower left leg, and get get up into a sitting position, and take a glance at my leg. The trouser leg itself was ripped and burning, and it felt oddly uncomfortable as it stuck to my leg with the blood from the wound I had yet to see. I immediately wished I never had. Pulling back the trouser leg, I saw a ghastly sight. A large proportion of my leg, from just above the ankle to a little below the knee, was covered in blood., despite the rain. There was a huge gash in my leg, at least five centimetres deep and about ten centimetres wide, practically oozing blood. The skin around the wound is incredibly tender, sending a fresh wave of pain through my body. With my mother being a healer, I know a bit about medicine and wounds. I know that unless I get adequate medicine and treatment, the best case scenario would be that I lose my leg, but that's not an option, giving the circumstances. Now the Capitol helicopters had a big advantage over me. I wouldn't be able to run. My mind drifts back to how Peeta must have felt, back in the first Arena, when Cato cut his leg. It had been left unattended and had ended up nearly killing him. He couldn't put any weight on the leg, and it was only me going to the feast to get his medicine that saved his life. But there would be no feast this time. No chance for me to get medicine, and even if there was I wouldn't be able to go.

Maybe I can hold out for a while, like Peeta did, but my medical knowledge tells me that my wound is a lot worse than Peeta's was.

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	3. Ironic Situations

Hi again!

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The whirring of the helicopter blades circling the skies above me, getting ever closer, tells me I need to move on. I need to find somewhere to hide, to stay safe, and maybe find Peeta along the way. I did not anticipate how difficult that simple task might be. As soon as I apply even a minimal amount of pressure to my injured leg I let out a pained gasp, find the grassy floor rising up to meet me. No! I can't walk! I'm lying in a pool of my own blood, one that's getting bigger every second, and all the while the helicopters circle the dark sky above me, the rain and thunder having no visible effect. I can't stay here, not if I at least want the slightest chance of survival. I have to move; I will not give the Capitol, or President Snow, the satisfactory of killing me without a fight. With a new burning determination, I manage to get myself into a standing position, the tree supporting my body. My leg was still bleeding, blood all but pouring out of the large wound, but I don't let that stop me. Placing my good leg forward, whilst keeping hold of the tree, I manage to drag my bad leg along, albeit painfully. I remember back to my first time in the arena, when the gamemakers sent in large fireballs intending to kill me, but instead I had gotten away with a burning, blistering leg wound, although it wasn't even half as bad as the pain I feel now. Eventually, no doubt after hours of coaxing on his part, Haymitch sent me some medicine, knowing I wouldn't get much further without it. I silently pray to myself, hoping for a parachute to come to my aid from my mentor, but I know no are forthcoming. Haymitch is back in District twelve, probably drunk and hungover, and probably doesn't even know what's happening to me and Peeta. I doubt the Capitol would air my death on live television. They will wait till they have my body in their clutches, and maybe Peeta's, before they announce it to Panem.

Thinking about Peeta again, I decide to shout his name. "Peeta! Peeta are you here?" The only reply I get is the pounding rain and clashing thunder. More tears escape my eyes, some from pain and some from fear, when I realise just how helpless I am. My leg, still bleeding, is completely useless, me not even being able to move it. I haven't moved in several minutes, to busy reminiscing in the past, but now I know I must. Who knows what the Capitol, with all their fancy weapons and methods, will do to me if they get their hands on me? Would they air it live? Or would they wait till my body was completely unrecognisable? I think of Peeta, Prim, Gale, My Mother and even Haymitch. Could I put them through that? Could I make them watch me be tortured to death, which I no doubt would be if the Capitol got hold of me? The answer is no. There was no way, in a million years, I would make any of them suffer that, and that's why I have to carry on. I move forward, using the same method I did before, slowly making progress. I am grateful for the fact that the trees are close together, close enough for me to reach over to the next one, without me having to put any added pressure on my leg. My only hope is to fins shelter, somewhere tat the Capitol helicopters won't be able to locate me. Instantly, I'm reminded of the cave me and Peeta took refuge in during the 74th Hunger Games, whilst he recovered, that became like a second home. It's ironic really, that I was able to save Peeta from a leg wound, and yet one would be my downfall.

I resume dragging my bad leg along the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I was okay for a while, just dragging myself along, like the wounded animal I actually am. I am glad for the fact that there are no other tributes, except Peeta, in the Arena. To anyone else, my trail of blood would have been a path to them killing me, but to Peeta, it's a way of him finding me, hopefully before the rain washes it away.

By now, my jacket is soaked, the continuous rain had seen to that already, causing numerous shivers to rake through my body, freezing me to the bone, which was the last thing I needed given that I already had a huge gash in my leg that was seeping blood. It's strange, but all of a sudden I feel longing, a longing to not be alone whilst I die, which I know I will eventually, but to be wrapped in warm, strong arms, safe from harm, knowing the owner of these arms would let no harm come to me. I think of home, back in District twelve, where I would be hunting with my best friend, Gale Hawthorne, who I know must be worried stupid right now, not knowing what is happening to me, although I doubt he would care as much at Peeta's fate. From the moment me and Peeta returned from the 74th Hunger Games, there had been a certain tension in the air, around Gale and Peeta, which I, of course, had been completely oblivious to, which was made even worse when me and Peeta were forced to keep up all pretences of being the star crossed lovers from District twelve, which I'm sure he enjoyed more than he let on. The fact is, Gale's my best friend, and Peeta's, well... I'm not sure what he is, but I know that I can't live without him.

Suddenly, without warning, I find myself falling to the ground once more, realising that there were no more trees for me to use as supports. From my crouching position on the floor, I see that I am in a clearing, full if yellow daffodils and white flowers which I have never seen before but remind me of when Rue died and I surrounded her body in flowers. That started the Rebellion. Ironic, really, that I find myself in a clearing, probably dying, surrounding by white flowers, much like Rue was when she died, and where I started the rebellion. Now, it seems, I am going to die in this clearing, because there isn't another tree in sight, and the rain is still pouring down, although the thunder seems to have stopped, for now. I am stuck here.

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**Thoughts?**


	4. Alone and Fighting

**Hi, i am just letting you guys know that unless i get more reviews i won't be continuing with this story. Anyway, Enjoy this chapter. **

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Hungry. I'm so hungry. I have been here, in this clearing, for what feels like hours, unable to walk, unable to move. I'm to weak to even drag myself along, and I've tried. My leg, although no longer bleeding, is numb, and even I, in my weak state, know that isn't a good sign.

The ever present rain, along with it's constant companion, thunder, seems to have finally given up, or the Game makers have decided to stop it. My clothes stick to my body, soaking wet, which just makes me even more uncomfortable, but I can live with the pain and the uncomfortable conditions, I can manage. Well, I would If wasn't so incredibly hungry. It's surprising really, that I could actually be so hungry. Living back in the seam, a person is used to getting whatever you can whenever you can, which usually wasn't much, my family especially, so I've known hunger, more than once. If I was at full strength, or even half strength, I could use my bow and arrow to shoot something down and eat it, but as it is, I can't even lift my hand up, I'm that weak. My only good fortunate is that, as of yet, the Capitol, with all their Helicopters, haven't found me yet, because if they did, out here in the clearing, without the cover that trees provide me, I'd be a goner. My stomach grumbles so loudly that for a minute I think the thunder has returned, but the constant longing for food in my stomach has me thinking otherwise. I know I won't survive much longer without food, and I have very little chance of getting any staying here like this, so my only option is to move, no matter how weak I am. I move my head slowly, and see that to my left, there are more trees, and in those trees lies my only hope of satisfying my hunger. I'm sure that, if I was close enough, and in the right position, I could shoot something with a bow, I am pretty good with it after all. With this new hope surging through me I try to drag myself along the floor, trying to get to the confinement the tries will offer me, their safety. I realise, by now, that my wound has started bleeding heavily once more, the constant movement and dragging seemingly too much for it, but all I care about at the moment is getting to where I want to be. I am the Mockingjay after all, the girl on fire, and everyone knows she doesn't give up without a fight. I wouldn't be here if I did, and who am I to deny the citizens of Panem one last fight before I die?

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	5. Of Mockingjay's and sealed fates

**Hi, here is the next chapter. Please keep reviewing! **

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After what seems like hours, in my sopping wet clothes, my braid wet and heavy, I reach the confines of the trees, and find myself, despite my predicament, grinning. Looking up, I still see no Capitol helicopter, which means that they are still looking somewhere else, or they have given up, which I doubt very much, considering how much trouble they have gone through to stage this. By now, the rain has long gone, and all that Is left is the wet foliage and the thin mist in the air, which is actually kind of refreshing. My leg has finally stopped bleeding, and all I feel now is a dull ache in my lower leg. I don't know whether that's good or bad, but I decide that I am not going to waste time finding out, but instead I will use it to my advantage.

Looking around, I see no birds in the sky, no rabbits grazing in the grass, and start to panic, thinking I will have no chance to catch something, when I get an idea.

Bringing the first two fingers of my left hand to my mouth, I mirror the Mockingjay call that I used in the first Arena, hoping to attract some live prey. The sound is exactly as I remember it, melodious and harmonical, but so are the bad memories. The last time I used this whistle, the last time I heard the melodious sound, was when I was looking for Rue In the arena, just before she died. The memory still pains me, and often I still have nightmares, imagining Prim's, Gale's or Peeta's face in her place, dying, with a spear sticking out of their stomach. What I remember most though, was the song I sang to Rue, who loved music more than anything, whilst she was dying. My father had sung those exact words to me every night when she was a little girl, and Prim was just a baby, and so, at the time I thought it was the best choice, given the circumstances, but now I wish I hadn't. Those words were one of the only things I still had to remind me of my father, and now they were tainted, defiled, with death and loss and pain. A soft cawing sound brings me out of my unpleasant thoughts, for which I am glad. There is a Mockingjay perched on the tree a few metres above me, silent, waiting for more calls that are not forthcoming, it's read tail feathers blowing in the breeze. I almost feel guilty for what I am about to do next. Raising my bow, which is now readily loaded with my arrow, I close one eye to help me with my aim. I lock on to my target. Three. Two. One. I pull my hand bag and let go. The arrow flies through the air, creating a whooshing sound as it does, and head straight for the Mockingjay. There's a shrieking sound, followed by a small thud as the Mockingjay hits the floor, my arrow embedded in it's eye. For a moment I relish in the fact that, even wounded, I can still hit my prey directly in the eye, which I owe to my years of illegal hunting in the woods with Gale beyond District twelve. As I advance towards my unmoving pray, I feel a pang of guilt at shooting it down. It wasn't doing anything wrong, just getting on with it's life, and I led it into a trap, ending its life. A stab of remorse flows through me as I look at the dead bird, lying on the ground, which is slowly followed by a sudden realisation. This bird is a Mockingjay. I am a Mockingjay. I killed this bird with an arrow. The Capitol are going to kill me with their guns.

_'No, I wont let them. I can't put Peeta and Prim and Mother and Gale through that' _I think, the defiance showing on my face.

That's when the sky comes alive with noise.

That's when I look up to see a sky filled with bright lights and whirring engines.

That's when their huge, bright spotlights, even through the confines of the trees, shine right on me.

The Capitol have found me.


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